A Witch On The High Seas - A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Merryweather Mysteries Book 2)

by Jenny Bankhead

  But then, suddenly, a new sound joined the cacophony. It was deep, shuddering, and ominous.

  It did not come from the sky, nor from the crowd of happy observers.

  This sound came from below deck. And as the shuddering boom resonated through the night air, the entire ship shook.

  The crowd became fearfully silent.

  “What was that?” Betty asked, just as Lorna spotted a cloud of black smoke billowing up into the air. It was coming from below deck.

  Chapter 6

  With the appearance of the chimney of thick, black smoke, chaos took over.

  “Fire!” shouted one of the guests.

  “We’re going to go down!”

  “God help us!”

  “Where are the lifeboats?”

  Everyone seemed to have a different idea about the best direction to head. Some went left; some went right; but all moved at a hurried, frantic pace.

  Lorna had to hold onto Betty’s elbow as a tall giraffe of a woman rushed by, click-clacking across the wooden deck in her stiletto heels, nearly running Betty over in the process. Lorna steadied her friend. The tall woman’s feather boa caught round Betty’s neck and stayed there even after the woman disappeared into the night.

  Betty wrapped the pink boa around her neck.

  Then, just as suddenly as the chaos had ensued, it stopped. The cause for restored order was a loud whistle, blown by one of the crew members.

  “Attention! Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” the crew member spoke through a megaphone.

  Attention was given.

  “Your captain has a few words to say,” the crew member informed the attentive, stilled crowd.

  With that, Lou Gasparini’s voice boomed through the megaphone. “This is your captain speaking. Moments ago, our ship’s engines had a slight malfunction.”

  Slight? thought Lorna. The word seemed a bit mild compared to the sound and smoke she had witnessed, but she had to give Lou credit for trying to placate the crowds. It seemed to be working. There was no longer a stampede of people dressed in formalwear running past her to-and-fro.

  “It was a very minor malfunction—to be expected from aging engines. Our engineers have informed us that while we can no longer maintain forward motion, our ship is still intact. The Mariasca will remain afloat. We are not in danger of sinking.”

  A collective sigh of relief emanated from the crowd. It was quickly followed by upset.

  “Then how are we going to get home?” a passenger called out, with a slight slur to his words.

  “We will have to wait here. The capable staff of the Mariasca is already arranging for a rescue. This will come in the form of a towboat.”

  “And how long will that take?” another passenger asked. Lorna thought that she recognized Earl’s Texan drawl.

  “A few days,” Lou replied in a matter-of-fact tone. He was not apologetic.

  “Days? I have a plane to catch,” a woman called out.

  “We can’t be stuck here for days! This is ridiculous,” a second woman yelled.

  Lou spoke again, unwavering in his attitude. He refused to be affected by his passengers’ complaining. “We have much to be grateful for, ladies and gentlemen. Our ship is sound. Once we have a tow, we will all get back to the port unscathed.”

  This was not true, but the captain didn’t know it then. One passenger would not be returning to shore unscathed.

  “For now, I leave you in the capable hands of our able crew. Thank you for your patience, understanding, and sturdy attitudes. Goodnight.”

  The crowd continued to complain, but the collective grumble was less intense than it had been before Lou said his final words. It was as though the passengers wanted to live up to the expectations of their stoic and respectable captain.

  “Might as well call it a night then,” Lorna heard one woman say.

  “At least we’re not going down. I didn’t want to ride in one of those teeny tiny lifeboats anyway,” a second woman said.

  “Neither did I,” the first woman agreed.

  Lorna had to agree. She was much more comfortable with the idea of making her way down to her fluffy, soft, and cozy bed than climbing aboard a lifeboat and being lowered into the inky sea.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she suggested to Betty.

  “It’s been a long night,” Betty agreed.

  With one last look out at the billowing smoke, Lorna gripped Betty’s arm and began following the crowds towards the sleeping quarters.

  * * *

  The next morning, Lorna and Betty walked into the ship’s bar. The stately room was set for champagne brunch. Though it was already nine o’clock in the morning, many of the tables were empty.

  “I believe I smell bacon,” Betty said.

  “You’re absolutely spot on,” Lorna said. She was pleased with how British she sounded. Perhaps, if she lived in Tweed-upon-Slumber long enough, she would eventually sound like the locals. Lorna liked that thought.

  “Have a seat, Betty,” she said. “I’ll go fill our plates. Would you like champagne with your meal? Or tea?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” Betty said.

  Lorna bustled off, leaving Betty at an empty table.

  The champagne brunch spread was a feast to behold. The long buffet line of options stretched from one end of the room to the other. There was every breakfast item imaginable: bacon, sausage, eggs, fried potatoes, quiche, pastries, donuts, bagels, pancakes, waffles, and fruit. Lorna had adapted to having a simple meal of Marmite on toast when she was at home in her cottage. The wide array of greasy, fatty, and sweet foods was a real treat. She was happy to deviate from her routine.

  She returned to Betty with two plates piled high, and two cups of steaming tea. Setting the entire tray of food down on the table, she had a thought. “Betty, if we’re going to be stuck out at sea for a few more days, that means we’ll get to eat brunch like this a few more times. This isn’t our last meal aboard like we thought it would be!”

  Betty didn’t seem as thrilled about this as Lorna was. “I miss bubble and squeak,” Betty said while leaning forward and sniffing the foods that Lorna placed in front of her. “What’s that I smell? Confectioners’ sugar?”

  “It’s on the jelly donut,” Lorna said. “Good nose.”

  Betty promptly located the donut on her plate and pulled it off to the side. She set it on a napkin off her plate, showing her distaste for the American breakfast option. Lorna chose not to take offense. Instead, she changed the subject.

  “It’s very gray outside,” she noted.

  “The air was cool,” Betty said. “I could feel the mist on my face. It was refreshing, after so many days in the bright sun.” She took a bite of her scrambled eggs.

  “We have had wonderful weather for the entire trip,” said Lorna. “But now it seems that a cloud has settled over the ship.”

  “I quite like it,” said Betty. “Wish I brought my brolly. Perhaps we’ll get lucky, and it will rain a bit.”

  Lorna knew that Betty was thinking of Tweed-upon-Slumber. Her brolly was her umbrella. Betty seemed to be getting homesick.

  “I do miss the rain,” Betty added wistfully.

  Lorna herself was not ready to go that far. She, for one, was happy that she hadn't packed an umbrella.

  “Do you think it’s this gray weather that’s keeping everyone away from brunch?” asked Lorna. “Maybe they saw how cloudy it was and decided to stay snuggled in bed.” She had been tempted to do as much, herself. Only her rumbling appetite had finally motivated her to emerge from beneath the soft down comforter.

  “I don’t think it’s the weather,” said Betty. “Rather, I think that quite a few people on this ship woke up this morning with mighty hangovers.”

  Lorna nodded in agreement. “There was quite a bit of celebrating going on last night.” She bit into a jelly donut. The sweet and sticky raspberry filling mingled with the donut’s flaky, sugar-coated edges. Divine! When washed down with te
a, the entire experience was heavenly.

  Betty spoke up. “I’d venture to guess that this room will fill up within the hour. The best cure for a hangover is hair of the dog.”

  Betty’s prediction proved right. Over the next hour, guest after guest wandered, bleary-eyed, into the bar. Because it was a champagne brunch, alcohol was available. Lorna watched passengers come back to life as they sipped the bubbly.

  By ten o’clock, the room was full. Despite the boost from the champagne, the overall mood in the bar was subdued. The merriment of the night before had disappeared along with the sunshine.

  “I don’t know if I can eat another bite,” Lorna said, finally setting down her fork. The strawberries were perfectly ripe, and the cantaloupe was absolutely delightful. She wanted to take another nibble, but her stomach protested.

  Betty was still eating. Lorna watched Betty scoop up a bite of eggs and lift it towards her mouth. Then, Betty froze. Her fork was midway to her mouth, but she let it hang there. Betty’s ears were perked. Her vacant eyes twinkled with focus and aliveness.

  She senses something, Lorna thought. But what?

  Lorna didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  Just then, the sound of someone screaming sliced through the room.

  It was coming from outside. Lorna jumped up from the table. Betty was close behind her. Other guests around them pushed away chairs as well and rushed for the bar room’s double doors, which were propped open.

  Outside on the decks, Lorna listened intently.

  Whoever had screamed was still screaming. The sound was piercing and shrill and sent goosebumps over Lorna’s skin. It was a woman’s scream—of this, she was certain.

  “It’s coming from below us,” Betty said softly.

  Lorna agreed. Though she had not been able to place the location of the sound at first, she was able to recognize that Betty was correct. The sound had definitely come from the deck below.

  The screaming stopped. Was that a good thing? Was it bad? Lorna didn’t know. She did know that she wanted to help.

  “This way,” she said to her friend while tugging on the sleeve of Betty’s blouse. “I saw a stairwell the other day. We’ve never been down to the lowest deck, but I know the way.”

  While Lorna and Betty slipped away from the crowd, Charlie spoke. He was holding a glass of champagne in his hand. “Not to worry,” he said. “Everyone return to your meals. I’ll handle this.”

  Most of the crowd did as he instructed. However, two other women refused to follow his instructions. They, like Lorna and Betty, seemed to want to help.

  Ana Almeda strode purposefully towards the staircase that led down to the lowest deck. Paula followed obediently behind her.

  The stairs were steep. Lorna did not let go of Betty’s arm as they descended. Though Betty was only sixty-two, she had a weak knee and didn’t do well with stairs. Now, on the pickleball or tennis courts, Betty could be quite spry. But stairs were a different matter altogether.

  The two women held back the others behind them. “Would you please move faster?” Ana said impatiently.

  “We’re going as fast as we can,” Lorna said.

  “Keep up the pace!” Charlie called out from somewhere behind them. His robust voice echoed throughout the stairwell.

  Lorna reached the doorway and opened it, leading the way out onto the lowest deck. As she stepped into the fresh air, she could feel the humidity of the cool, misty air on her cheeks.

  Behind her, she could hear Ana and Paula speaking. For some reason, Paula’s voice was much more confident than it had been on other occasions. “I don’t know,” Paula said. “But we better figure it out.”

  “It sounded like a woman,” Ana said. Her tone was uncharacteristically businesslike. She was actually talking to her assistant as if Paula was a human, for once.

  Maybe it’s because situations like this tend to bring people together, thought Lorna as she walked.

  Lorna didn’t know exactly where she was going, but her instincts led her to the left. The stairwell had opened to the staff quarters. On this level of the ship, the decor was much more functional. Instead of polished wood paneling on the walls, Lorna noted whitewashed metal, complete with utilitarian signs. INFIRMARY one sign stated. MESS HALL said another. LAUNDRY ROOM said a third.

  To the left, where Lorna was headed, was an open deck area. Because the lowest level of the ship was also the widest, the deck extended out past where the upper deck stopped. Lorna glanced up and saw, a little way to the side and up about thirty feet, the railing where she and Betty had just been standing along while listening to the scream.

  It happened somewhere in this area, Lorna thought, looking around the sparsely furnished deck.

  On the second level of the ship, each open deck area was crowded with an abundance of comfortable and inviting furniture. But on this lowest level of the ship, there was a definite lack of furniture. Lorna spotted only two chairs, and they were small, plastic, and looked uncomfortable and uninviting.

  Lorna walked towards those chairs. They were lined up just below the railing above. Her senses were tingling. Closer…I’m getting closer, she thought instinctively. As the descendant of a powerful witch coven, Lorna was prone to receiving such messages from her intuition.

  Closer to what? she wondered.

  Then she spotted it.

  There, sprawled across the deck, just in front of the plastic chairs, lying face first in a pool of viscous, maroon blood, was a body.

  It was a man’s body. He was clearly dead. Lorna halted in her tracks, and Betty stopped at her side. Ana and Paula, on the other hand, rushed forward. Lorna was impressed by their bravery.

  “Is he dead?” Paula asked aloud, while Lorna and Betty looked on.

  Ana reached the body and knelt down. She looked as though she might be about to feel for a pulse when Charlie called out abruptly: “Stop!”

  He too brushed past Lorna and Betty and headed for the body.

  “Don’t touch him!” Charlie said. “This is a crime scene.”

  Ana retracted her hand. Paula eyed Charlie disdainfully as she also stepped back, away from the body.

  “Because this is a crime scene, we must not touch the body,” Charlie said.

  “But we have to confirm that he’s dead,” Ana protested. “We might be able to save him.”

  “Of course,” Charlie said. Then, under his breath, he began mumbling.

  Lorna’s senses were on high alert. She focused on her hearing, which could be quite good when she wanted it to be—and was able to listen in on what Charlie was whispering under his breath.

  “Try to tell me how to do my job… I know how to do my job… Been doing it for years. This old bag thinks she’s the bee's knees, doesn’t she? Rich lady who’s seen too many medical dramas on the tele…”

  He was crouching down now, by the body. Lorna had to avert her gaze as he turned the corpse’s head. She did not act quickly enough and caught a quick glimpse of the lifeless face. It was a face she recognized.

  “It’s Leon,” she whispered to Betty. “Vice-Captain Leon.”

  “He’s dead,” Betty said. This was a statement, not a question. Lorna’s heightened witchy senses were telling her the same thing. This man was beyond saving. He was gone, at least from this realm.

  Charlie, devoid of any witchy or psychic senses, had flattened his fingers against the body’s neck. He scrunched up his face with intense concentration as he felt for the movement of blood within the dead man’s carotid artery. Of course, he felt nothing.

  Standing, Charlie walked over to the place a few feet away where he had set down his champagne glass. He picked it up and then drank it down. Finishing, he nodded. “No pulse,” he confirmed. “Vice-Captain Leon is dead.”

  Paula gasped.

  Ava spoke up. “We need to notify the authorities,” she said.

  “I am an authority!” Charlie barked. Then he composed himself, as much as he could for a man wearing an ove
rsized Hawaiian shirt now smudged with blood. “I am the head of security on this ship, miss, and it would do you well to remember that. Please return to the upper deck and leave this to me.”

  Ana and Paula grudgingly turned away and retreated for the stairs. Lorna knew that she and Betty would have to follow them, as Charlie had instructed, but she hesitated to do so.

  “Can we help at all?” Lorna asked. She truly wanted to offer Charlie some assistance. He seemed so overwhelmed.

  Charlie seemed to soften, now that the arrogant Spanish woman and her assistant had left the scene. He had a soft spot for Lorna and Betty.

  “The biggest help that you can offer right now,” Charlie said, after a moment of thought, “would be to pretend as if this didn’t happen. Don’t go upsetting the other passengers. Leave this to me. I’ll just call up the police, and they’ll be on their way promptly.”

  “From Spain?” Lorna asked. She tried to remember where, in the ocean, they were. Somewhere near the Barcelona port, she recalled. Hours from the shore, even by speedboat.

  “Yes,” Charlie said. “Until they arrive, we’ll just need to keep this crime scene just as it is. I’m sure I have crime-scene tape somewhere; I’ll just have to find it.” He began muttering to himself again.

  This time, Lorna didn’t bother heightening her hearing to catch his words. Instead, she focused on her eyesight. Her gift paid off. She caught sight of an object that had rolled just two feet away from the body and had come to rest next to the leg of one of the plastic chairs. Before Charlie could stop her, she darted forward and picked up the object in her hands.

  It was a snow globe—beautiful, antique-looking, and quite hefty. An ornate gold-colored foundation cradled a clear ball the size of two fists. Inside the glass ball, water speckled with white flakes swirled around a little winter ocean scene, complete with a sailing ship. The piece felt like it weighed at least three or four pounds in her hands, maybe more. The globe was smeared in blood.

  Lorna was not sure what to think. She glanced at Charlie. He had not seen her pick it up. He was busy pulling things from his pockets. With a burst of intention, she willed herself to hear his words.